No Matter What
by Ludi
Summary: Rogue and Gambit celebrate their first anniversary, and inadvertently end up discussing Rogue's decision not to have children - amongst other things. Written for Rogue/Gambit Week 2020, Day 6 - First Anniversary


**Disclaimer:** Characters are owned by Marvel.

**Warnings: **Minimal bad language and reference to sexual stuff.

**Author notes: **This was written for Rogue/Gambit Week 2020, Day 6 - _First Anniversary_. Thanks to **Jehilew **for the awesome Deathbit angle. And thanks to **DayenuRose** for making Rogue/Gambit Week happen! Please enjoy!

-Ludi x

PS: Yes, I find the Hickman take on 616 problematic as hell.

-oOo-

* * *

**No Matter What**

"You have no idea," Rogue declared expressively over the rim of her wineglass, "how great it is to be off that crazy ass island!"

Remy smirked with amusement as she downed the contents of the glass as if it were a pitcher of beer.

"Well, you said you didn't mind goin', chere," he pointed out humorously. "All that sun, sea, sand and sex… You said it'd be like bein' back on Paraiso!"

"Sure." She waved a hand and plonked the glass back down onto the table, inelegantly smacking her crimson lips. "That was what you _persuaded_ me with, anyways. I wasn't the one who originally wanted to head there, not when you started all that talk about spyin' on our friends!"

Remy said nothing and eyed her with appreciative bemusement. Gorgeous though the setting was (he'd only booked them into the most luxurious restaurant in Paris, with a glorious view of the Eiffel Tower to boot), there was definitely something playing on the mind of his darling wife, and there'd been thunder clouds brewing over her head for a while now.

Under the circumstances he didn't think it wise to bring up the fact that something weird was going down in Krakoa. He'd only reminded her about fifty times already, and he didn't want to agitate her more than she was already. But damn him if he wasn't going to bleed this out of her at some point tonight. She was looking far too beautiful, in her fiery red cocktail dress, for him to settle for anything less than sinfully hot sex on their anniversary night. Oh yes – he had plans for the evening, and her being in this particular flavour of stubborn was not a part of them.

Still…

"C'mon, you knew I was right to not trust Poccy. 'Specially after what he pulled on _you_."

He'd expected her to defend En-Sabah-Nur… Hell, she'd been doing it a suspicious amount lately… But to his surprise she simply flicked those gorgeous green eyes up to him, chewed on her lips thoughtfully, and said:

"Ya know, I never did thank you, Remy."

"For what?"

She lowered her eyes, stabbed her fork into her salad, raised them again.

"For lookin' out for me back there. For takin' care of me when I was stuck in that coma. For havin' the forethought to have Rachel keep an eye on me. I never thanked you for all that. I'm sorry I didn't."

For a split second he was surprised.

"I did what I had ta. You're my wife."

She pouted, blew a stray white lock out of her hair.

"You were so worried. I know. The others told me you pretty much didn't leave my side. And I came out of that coma so angry and pissed that I didn't even think about what kinda effect all this had on you. I'm sorry."

For the first time in while she actually looked… abashed. Deflated. She hadn't looked that way since that celebratory night in the hot tub when she'd opened up to him in a way she hadn't ever opened up to him before. There had been a hardness to her since they'd landed on Krakoa, a shield covering up…something. He wasn't sure what, but he'd felt it, and this was one of the first times she'd let that guard down since then.

"Chere, look," he began seriously, "you had Poccy rattlin' round in your head. Of course you were pissed. Of course you weren't yourself. Don't worry about it."

He began to carve into his steak, thinking the conversation was over; but she continued to surprise him by looking at him thoughtfully and replying:

"Ya know, I have thought about it, Rem."

Her voice was soft, melancholy, and when he looked at her, all done up so fine for him in that slinky red dress with that sad, sad look on her face, he was moved to set down his knife and fork and say:

"What you thought about, mon coeur?"

Her eyes flickered to his and away again, as if her thoughts embarrassed her.

"Whether all… _this_… ain't just Apocalypse still floatin' round in my head." She frowned. "I know I ain't been myself lately, and… I know it's been worryin' you too. I hate it – worryin' you. But there's a lot of him still up here, and he's so strong sometimes he's a little hard ta put away, ya know?"

She tapped her temple and grimaced.

Remy nodded silently. Honestly, he was a little relieved to hear her talking about it. Apocalypse being in her head was something he'd worried about more than just a little over the past couple of weeks, but every time he'd tried to broach the subject, she'd swatted it away irritably. He'd known then that it'd been bothering her, but he'd figured he should just take a step back and let her acknowledge it whenever she was good and ready.

Now seemed to be the time, and he wasn't about to ruin it for her.

"And," she added in a faster tone, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth, "you _may_ have been right about Poccy proving himself untrustworthy. _But… _havin' had him in my head the past week or so… I think that he really _believes_ he has mutantkind's best interests at heart."

"And d'ya think he really does?" he cut in pointedly.

She was silent, merely throwing him a penetrating glance. He read her expression with ease.

"Well then," he spoke with a curl of a smile, "we'll just have to stick around in paradise and keep an eye on him."

And for the first time in a while, her face broke into a conspiratorial smile.

"Amen t'that, sugar," she grinned, raising her glass to his.

-oOo-

Rogue had appreciated the effort her husband had gone to for their first anniversary – fine wine, fine food, and him all wrapped up in that delectably tailored suit of his. But then, he always _had_ cleaned up well; it was impossible for him not to, with that toned physique and his stupidly long legs. She liked him rough around the edges, but when he went around looking like _this_ – looking good enough to be on the front of Vogue – she found it difficult not to go weak at the proverbial knees.

Here they were, on the restaurant's dancefloor, slow dancing to the music because neither of them was very accomplished dancers; but they knew how to hold one another, and that was all that mattered.

"So," Remy asked, tellingly nonchalant. "Just what the hell runs around Poccy's head durin' downtime?"

Rogue tutted, exasperated this his mind was still on this particular subject.

"Didn't we promise we wouldn't talk business tonight?" she griped.

"I'm sorry." He gave his most adorably helpless smile. "I'm worried about you, 'kay? You haven't talked about what went down back there the whole damn week. And I know you, chere, but absorbin' Poccy to death ain't no walk in the park, even for you."

"Pfft." She rolled her eyes. "I'm _fine_, shug. I told you already."

"You sure? 'Cos you been a li'l… withdrawn, since all'a that b'sness went down. Just so you know," he added quickly, seeing her brow furrow and her lips begin to pout, "ya _can_ talk ta me if ya need to. Okay?"

She was still learning to appreciate his genuine and open concern for her. So many years down the line, and now with a ring on her finger, she _still_ found it difficult not to swat that concern away. Besides… things _had_ been playing on her mind – she couldn't deny that. She'd absorbed so many peoples' psyches in her time, but never to the point of taking their lives. This should have been… big. Life-changing, in so many ways. So, she'd almost been ashamed to admit that she felt _good_. She wasn't sure what that meant right now, except that her mind was clearer than it had been for a while, and she was gonna run with that feeling as far as she could. She wasn't sure she could for long, not with Apocalypse lurking around in there somewhere.

"Remy," she answered as calmly as she could, "that's very sweet, but please don't worry about me. I feel absolutely fine. If that changes, you'll be the first to know. Now please," she continued, nestling her head comfortably against his chest as they swayed to the music, "let's not talk about work while we're here."

"Okay," he agreed; but barely a minute had passed before he asked, "Are you sure there ain't no 'Pocalypse rattlin' round your head, chere?"

Rogue snapped back, almost completely breaking away from him in her exasperation.

"Remy—"

"Be honest, Rogue. Don't you think your thoughts have been… a little _weird_ recently?"

Oh. She knew what _this_ was about.

"You're talkin' about me not wantin' to have kids, aren't ya," she levelled quietly at him. She was so used to him charming his way out of sticky conversations, that she was a little surprised when he pursued the topic, his expression completely earnest.

"And I meant what I said when I said I was fine wit' your decision. But honestly… don't'cha think it came a li'l from left field? You've always wanted kids. I mean… back when we was in California… The conversations we had…"

"That was a long time ago, Remy."

"Then help me out. I've obviously missed out on a lot the past few years."

Rogue felt her temper begin to rise. She knew in her heart of hearts that this had been bothering him all week, and she understood that… but for him to have chosen _tonight_ of all nights to have this conversation – _that_ pissed her off.

"Remy, I really don't wanna have this conversation right now…"

He looked a little wounded at that, which also annoyed her, even though she _also_ knew, deep down, that he _wanted_ kids. The clues had been there over the years… the bitterness with which he'd told her, once, long ago, that he'd learned that a person like him would be better of giving up on ever having a family… the mansion he'd once bought back in NOLA for the life he'd never got to live with Belladonna… and, most recently, the fact that he'd seen Spiral's soul as the thing he'd most wanted. _A baby_.

Her choice not to have one had hurt him. He'd played admirably at fooling her into believing he'd let it go, but that was all it had been, she realised. A play at acceptance.

"Why the hell didn't you mention this before if it worried you so much?" she asked him pointedly.

"Are you kiddin'?" It was his turn to look annoyed. "It ain't like we've had any time to ourselves t'talk about anythin' recently, and every time we have, you ain't really been of a mood t'talk about anythin'. And anyway, I swear the walls have ears on that island! Every time I even _think_ somethin', I feel like one of the Five has heard!"

"Do ya really need me to remind ya," she replied archly, "that _you_ were the one who brought up the idea of goin' to Krakoa first? To – what was it? – 'keep an eye on things'? _I_ was actually pretty darn happy at home with the cats."

"C'mon. Don't'cha think it was a good idea that we did? Don't you find it really creepy that we're suddenly goin' in for this world domination, homo superior thing right now? And this law, this 'make more mutants'? It can't be just me who thinks it sounds fuckin' fascist! This ain't what the X-Men stands for, and I ain't heard _nobody_ on that island even question any of this! Don't you think that's _weird_ as fuck?"

"I ain't sayin' it ain't problematic," Rogue hissed, lowering her voice as an expertly waltzing couple whizzed past. "All I'm sayin' is, you don't have a right to complain to _me_ about it, when it was _your_ idea! And if I'd stood my ground and not gone along with ya, I wouldn't have fried Poccy to a crisp with my stinkin' powers!"

"Oh, so he _is_ givin' you grief then?"

"I didn't say that!"

"You pointed it out like you was regrettin' it."

"On principle, yeah. I mean, wouldn't _you_, if you'd absorbed that asshole? Doesn't mean he's causin' me any _particular_ grief."

"Well, I'm glad," he snapped back with genuine anger this time. "'Cos bein' near that 'asshole' gives me a helluva lotta grief every minute of every goddamn day."

That did it. She broke away from him fully this time, pissed beyond believe that he was ruining their anniversary like this.

"Ya know what, Cajun? I'm gonna go out and get some fresh air. And I suggest you do too."

And with that she stormed over to the balcony and took off into the night sky, leaving behind a bevy of politely intrigued and gossiping guests behind her.

-oOo-

Remy was acutely aware – and not particularly sorry – that he'd put his foot in it. Pretty badly, at that.

"I don't care what I said 'bout 'Poccy," he muttered irately as he hauled himself up the side of the Eiffel Tower. "I'm right. Fresh air, my ass. This whole thing stinks."

He had to kick himself for doing this particular stunt in the worst get-up ever – suit and tie and dress shoes, and without a lick of gear at that – but these were the rules his darling wife had set him, and so he didn't have much of a choice.

Nevertheless, he thought, as he dragged himself painstakingly up towards the tower's peak, he knew he was at least partially to blame for this. If only he'd kept his mouth shut… But this had been tormenting him for days now, and he hadn't been able to help himself from spilling it all out. He'd felt as helpless from doing so as a volcano about to burst. Everything he'd thought he'd known about Rogue all this time had seemingly imploded. He wanted to know what had changed. Wasn't he owed at least some explanation, when he'd allowed himself to set his heart on something he'd denied himself forever – a family?

Remy pulled himself up over the final hurdle and onto the very tip of the spire. Rogue was there, hovering a little off the ground with her back to him, her arms about her as the chilly night hair whipped her scarlet dress about her, tugged errant coppery curls from their updo. He sucked in a breath. No matter what mood he was in, she always took his breath away. _Always_.

Slowly getting to his feet, Remy shrugged off his jacket and quietly came up behind her, gently arranging it over her shoulders. It was a peace-making gesture – they both knew it. And when she drew the jacket closer round her, he knew his apology had been at least halfway accepted.

"I'm sorry," she surprised him by saying it first. "It's so easy to forget sometimes what Apocalypse did to you, and I should never have treated it so lightly. I'm sorry, Remy. Call me dumb, but until right now, I never appreciated how difficult it must be for you to be on the same team as him… How much it must hurt. I'm sorry."

She never ceased to amaze him. _Ever_. His anger abated somewhat, and he wrapped his arms around her from behind, held her close.

"It's okay," he murmured against her ear, propping his head on her shoulder and looking out on the spectacular view of Paris before them. "What happened was a long time ago."

"He made you into his soldier of Death, Remy!" she retorted. "That don't just leave ya, sugar! That stays with you forever."

He was silent.

Death wasn't something he thought about a lot, and it was something he talked about even less, even with her. Perhaps _especially_ with her. The whole saga had marked a period of their relationship that had frankly been one of the worst. He wasn't even brave enough to talk about it now.

"Anna," he finally spoke. "Can I ask ya somethin'? You don't have to answer, and I want ya to know I still support ya, whatever you say, or even if you answer or not, but… When ya said you didn't think you'd want ta have children, was it _really_ because of some dream you had, or was it 'cos o' somethin' more?"

Her body stiffened a little; but she didn't move away.

"Remy, what people want sometimes changes…"

"I know," he answered with a small nod. "Honestly, I do, chere. But I jes' wanna know whether there wasn't somethin' else. The times you talked to me about how you'd always just wanted t' know what it was to hold someone in your arms… a lover… a bébé… … You 'member back in Valle Soleada? That night when we was lookin' after Jack and Paint's kids, and ya said that this was all you'd ever wanted? You, me, the house, and two kids?"

She was quiet a long time, so much so that he thought she wouldn't reply. He was almost taken off guard when she did.

"I don't think I could ever forget that," she answered softly.

He could tell, from the tone of her voice, that there was something on her mind now. He didn't want to speak for fear of breaking what he sensed would be the prelude to a moment of honesty.

"Look…" she began, finally, "you're right. This ain't just about some nightmare I had, although I wasn't lyin' about that." She sighed deeply, her hand almost subconsciously coming to grip his own, to hold it tight. "You weren't wrong, Cajun. I _did_ want a fam'ly, for the longest time. But for a whole mess o' reasons, I guess you could say my feelin's've changed. Back then I was young and romantic… Idealistic, you could say… I didn't have any idea of what it'd be like to be in a committed relationship, let alone what it would be to be settled and have kids. Since then… I've learned a lotta things about myself. About life. I've… grown up. And white picket fences and a couple o' kids ain't how life's cracked up to be, is it? Not _really_. We lead a real crazy life, Cajun. Would it be fair on kids, t' put them through all that? I mean, what's goin' on with Franklin Richards right now… What happened to Cable, and Hope, and, gawd… look at those crazy twins too. What kind of a life could I give them? Could I even rise to the kinda responsibility it'd take t' raise them?"

She was in full flow now, both her voice and body stirring with emotion as she continued:

"And ya know what the truth is? I haven't even been sure if I've been able to have kids for _ages_ now. What happened with the Terrigen plague… that shoulda left me sterile, and even though I went through the treatments, they could never really tell me whether I'd ever be able to bear children."

She took another deep breath, absently played with his wedding ring, her tone turning pensive.

"And then, y'know… I've thought a lot about whether the nature of my mutation even makes it possible for me to conceive. What being immune to pretty much _everything _really means in terms of my body. Whether I'd absorb a kid if it was inside me, and… I couldn't take that kinda trauma, Remy. I couldn't. Forget what happened with Apocalypse. If I killed my own kid before it'd even been born, it'd make me want to die."

She was shaking, actually shaking in his arms, and he squeezed her hand, pulled her closer.

"Anna, chere, none of that means you don't _want_ t'have a kid, just that you might not be able to have one…"

"Yeah," she cut in morosely. "You can say they're two different things, but honestly, Remy, what matters is that I ain't ready to even begin to contemplate the potential trauma havin' a kid – that whole process – might put me through. And honestly, with the way things are now, I don't know if I'll _ever_ be ready to go through that. That's why, when I say I might never want to have children, I mean it. This ain't some grand sacrifice, and it ain't me bein' selfish either. It's just how I feel. I just ain't ready."

She was finished; and he gave a morose little smile to himself. These were the times he loved her best – when she let those famous guards down, when she laid herself out before him with all the raw honesty and passion he knew she was capable of. When she opened up to him, even though she was hurting, scared. He knew how much the mask of fearlessness meant to her. It humbled him to know she'd drop it, just for him.

"I understand now," he said.

She turned in his arms and faced him, searching his face earnestly.

"Do ya?"

"Yeah," he nodded, meeting her gaze. "I do. You been feelin' this way for a while, huh?"

"For a while," she nodded. "At least… I've been confused 'bout how I've been feelin' for a long time. I guess you could say my feelin's became a lot clearer only recently. I'm sorry, Remy," she added sadly. "I know you've been… havin' your own feelin's about this lately, and it made me scared t' talk to you about it. But I should've been more honest sooner. Your feelin's are as valid as mind, sugar."

"Sure." He nodded. "But it's your body first and foremost. You get to make the final decision, chere. Always. Now," he concluded, tucking the coat closer round her shoulders and pressing his forehead against hers. "Can we head back t' the hotel, 'sugar'? It's damn cold up here!"

-oOo-

Later, in the Art Deco splendour of their Parisian hotel, the cold was all but forgotten.

Rogue curled into the warm cradle of Remy's naked body, content – after all that time without him – to just be near him, to hold him, to breathe in his scent.

He'd been quiet for a long time, in the kind of way that told her that something was on his mind – and she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"I'm sorry, Remy," she found herself apologising again, shifting slightly to kiss his chest. "Ya know I'd change my mind about this just for you, but I can't."

He laughed a little and pressed his lips into her hair.

"We both know you wouldn't change your mind for my sake, not even if you was inclined to. And I guess that's what I love best about ya, chere. You're stubborn as a mule."

She slapped his chest playfully and propped herself up on an elbow, shooting him a suitably hammy death stare.

"I am not, Cajun!"

"Are so!"

"Not!"

"So!"

He successfully derailed the argument by grappling for one of her most ticklish spots, which, predictably, ended up in another round of fun and games. It was only after she'd come down from the dizzying heights of her climax that she realised that it had, at least partially, been one of his well-practiced distraction tactics.

"Seriously, Rem," she persisted as they lay entwined together – this time she refused to let his charms work on her. "Tell me what's on your mind. I was honest – now's your turn, sugar."

"Damn, chere," he laughed, still flushed and breathless from their latest little tussle. "You don't miss a trick."

"Neither do you," she rejoined pointedly. "Now tell me."

He gave a noise that sounded like something between irritation and resignation, rolling away from her and onto his back.

"Guess ya know me too well, huh?" he threw at her, his expression all at once accusing and affectionate.

"Well, Cajun," she purred, shifting back over him and running her fingers teasingly down his chest and abdomen. "I ain't been messin' around with you all these years without gettin' to know ya a little better than most. Somethin's still on ya mind. I can feel it."

She'd said the words lightly, playfully almost – but he hadn't taken them that way. Or maybe he hadn't even really heard her at all. His face was stoic, self-contained.

"What?" she asked quietly.

"Anna," he answered, reaching out to twist her cinnamon curls gently between his fingers. "You were right about me wantin' a fam'ly. I do – I reckon I always did, deep down. But I after Belle and I split…"

"Yeah," she finished for him when he couldn't continue. "I know. You took me to the house you were gonna share with her, remember? Told me about the life you wanted to have, that you'd planned for. Y' told me you gave up on that, and I knew it was 'cos you thought all the bad things you'd done in your life meant you couldn't trust yourself as a father. But that past is gone now. And all the sins you figured you did with it are gone too. So now—"

"So if there's a time to be honest wit' myself about the things I want, it's now." He heaved in a breath, let it out again, his eyes wandering the ceiling. He was struggling for words, she knew, and it was several moments before his eyes met hers again, and he felt able to speak.

"The truth is, when you told me how you felt about havin' kids the other night, it got me t' thinkin' myself. You know you were talkin' about these thoughts, these feelin's, you'd been havin' subconsciously for a while now, but it'd only taken until recently for them to surface?"

She nodded, oddly apprehensive about whatever it was he was about to reveal.

"Well," he continued, "I got the same kinda feelin' the other night when we had that talk in the hot tub. Honestly, Anna? I don't even know if I can have kids either."

His gaze had wandered again, like the words shamed him. She frowned, confused.

"I don't understand… …"

"Anna," he said with a dead calm. "I was Death. Whatever Apocalypse did ta me, I couldn't tell ya, but I know it was bad, and I also know that I won't ever be sure if Sinny really got that shit outta my system for good."

He still couldn't look at her, and his obvious shame made her feel sad.

"Remy, that was ages ago. You ain't had any symptoms of revertin' back to Death for _years_ now…"

"No, I know," he broke in quickly. "The Professor helped me rebuild my mind after all the shit that happened, but my body… What if Death is still inside my cells? What if it means I can't reproduce? What if it don't matter what either of us wants? What if _neither_ of us can physically have children?"

God. All this time and he'd been thinking this. It'd been floating at the back of his mind like a virus, and he'd never said a thing. She remembered the long nights believing she'd never be able to have children, how much agony it had caused her back then. Now, even if she couldn't say she'd fully come to terms with the idea of being sterile, not fully, she'd come a long, long way towards it. And she knew he still had a_ long_ journey to go down that path towards acceptance.

"Remy," she said, hardly knowing what to say herself, "darlin'… if neither of us can have kids, and that's what we decide we want, we can always adopt…"

"That's not the point, Anna," he interjected. "The point is that this is my body. And someone took away control of it. To the point where I ain't even sure if I'm even able to have a kid. I know how it feels, chere, to have your choice taken away from ya. That's why I'd never take away yours, whether I liked what you decided or not."

She only really got it then – just how much it killed him to have to work with Apocalypse, to even have to be in the same vicinity as him. En-Sabah-Nur's presence was a constant reminder of Death to him – it peered round every corner and stalked his every waking moment – probably a few sleeping ones too. Her mind was suddenly cast back to those agonising days she'd spent in that cell on Genosha… the way she'd been stripped of all her defences, of all the meagre autonomy she'd managed to hold over her body. It had been one of the most terrifying and life-changing moments of her life. She couldn't imagine what it must feel like to have herself physically transformed in the way he had – especially not when she knew how much pride he took in his body, in his strength, his beauty, his poise.

It hurt her more than she could tell to realise what he'd been going through on Krakoa, how vulnerable it must've made him to have to be near the man that had violated him, day in, day out.

She leaned into him, slipped her arms round his shoulders, touched her forehead to his.

"Oh Remy…" she whispered, "we don't haveta go back, sugar. We don't haveta go back…"

He laughed weakly, ran his roughened hands up her back, making her shiver.

"Oh beb, I ain't gonna back down from this mission now that it's started. And _especially _not after what he did to you."

"Pfft. I can handle myself. Honestly, I feel _fine_."

"And that makes me suspicious."

"Of course it does, shug. You're suspicious of everythin'. I just want ya to know – I've got your back. Now that we're on the same page… I've got ya back."

He grinned.

"And I've got yours, beb. Always."

She searched his face with wonder.

"What?" he asked quizzically.

"What'd I ever do to deserve you?"

"That right hook you gave me when we first met? That was the moment. You've had me since then."

She laughed, long and hearty, before moving in for a kiss.

"I love ya, sugar."

"I love you too, chere. No matter what. Happy anniversary."

-END-


End file.
